


The Loose Board

by Nori



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, and what happens with her after the game, mentions of Ciri, spoilers for Witcher 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nori/pseuds/Nori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say no Witcher has ever died in his own bed, but there's a first time for everything. </p><p>Just another day in the delightfully uneventful lives of Geralt and Yennefer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loose Board

**Author's Note:**

> X-posted to fanfiction.net
> 
> I beat Witcher 3 (I am but a babe in the Witcher fandom and have no other Witcher experience) a couple days ago and I can't stop thinking about it. I love these characters so much more than I was prepared to. I was terribly sad to see so little Geralt/Yen fic (and art and anything really), so despite my lack of poetic talents, I wrote this. I'm as shaky and shy as a newborn foal when posting fic but there is a sort of part 2 to this, if anyone is interested in me writing it down. I hope you enjoy it (and please overlook my complete inability to end things haa).
> 
> Just a note: I got the Ciri becomes a witcher ending, which I was quite pleased with, but I was thinking about the Ciri becomes the empress ending when this idea came to me. I've never actually seen that ending (I'd like to experience it for myself, rather than watch it on youtube) but I think I got most of it right? Sorry if I didn't.

The fire roars in the hearth, logs popping and crackling as they crumble to coals. The flames, the only light in the room, cast orange flickers across Yen’s profile. Ostensibly cleaning his silver sword (a terrible excuse to watch her read, as they both know this sword hasn’t been used for many a day now), Geralt lets his eyes linger on the orange playing along the curves of her dark waves and the shadows jumping over her pale skin. She is as beautiful now as she has ever been, perhaps more so for the lack of political plots and courtly intrigue. Indeed, the most pressing matter she has brought to him in recent memory is an urgent craving for something other than venison or hare at supper. 

And Vesemir had laughed at the notion of him ever finding peace and quiet with Yennefer. If only the old man could see them now.

Outside the warmth and comfort of their cottage, a blizzard rages. A harsh gale of icy wind smashes against the wall, whistling through thin cracks and setting the loose board in the corner to rattling. Absently, he notices Yen’s eyebrow quirk upward and her lips pull down. She’s unimpressed with this particular development and he’s sure to hear about it later. He makes a mental note to look into it when the storm ends. Witchers don’t have much use for carpentry, but surely he can learn. It can’t be harder than stopping the Wild Hunt, right?

Thoughts of the Wild Hunt always turn his mind to Ciri. He’s heard word of her success in Vizima of course, but it’s been some time since last they spoke. He could always send a message, Ciri would be sure to reply, but their home is nearly a day’s travel outside of the nearest village and the peasant folk have been very vocal about his _staying_ a day’s travel from them. Yen assures him often that Ciri is doing quite well and has even found true happiness in her new role. Geralt doesn’t ask how she knows (he’s found it simpler not to question the sorceress’ ways) but he’s always glad to hear it anyway. Still, he wonders if Ciri would not be happier elsewhere. Perhaps if he had not brought her to Emhyr before taking her to Velen, he could have spared her this life of rules and appearances. Knowing Ciri, however, it was probably best to give her all the information and let her choose her own path. She always was one to put herself in harm’s way for those less fortunate than she. 

“Geralt,” Yen interrupts his silent musings, voice regal and commanding as always. “You’re going to whittle that sword to nothing if you continue like this.”

Concern drips into her voice, thickening with each word from her lips. He looks down at the sword, notes his white knuckled grip on the haft, how furiously he must have been rubbing the blade. She’s worried about him. It almost brings a smile to his face. He drops his cleaning rag to the floor and carefully settles the blade across his knees. Yennefer’s violet eyes watch him impatiently. 

“Hmm,” he rumbles eventually, “thinking about Ciri.”

Yen heaves a put upon sigh, snapping her book closed with authority. With unexpected care, she places the book on the small table beside her and rises to her feet. 

“And here I was,” she begins, stepping slowly past bookshelves, fingers briefly touching upon well loved spines, “thinking it must be something truly awful to trouble you so.”

“Haven’t heard from her in a while,” Geralt answers, offering her a minute shrug. She rolls her eyes, continuing her slow march around the room. He keeps his eyes on her, even as she passes behind him. He cranes his neck but does not move from the chair. She stops at her vanity, back to him, and fiddles with some toiletry or another left out from the morning. 

“If you could refrain from whining like an unruly child, we could visit Ciri in person. It would take but a matter of moments.”

“I hate portals,” Geralt responds automatically, turning to frown down at his sword. 

“Yes,” Yen answers flatly. “Which is why you must simply wait for Ciri to grow tired of your reticence and take matters into her own hands.”

He grabs up the scabbard resting against the side of his chair and sheaths his sword with the ease of many years practice. 

“Of course,” the sorceress muses, and Geralt twists in his seat to look at her once again. She’s seated on the vanity now, palms flat against the smooth surface. “Given how busy Ciri must be with an entire empire to manage, I can’t imagine she’s much time to worry about one silly old witcher.”

Slowly, he climbs to his feet and carries his sword to the rack flush against the wall. He surveys the collection, steel and silver as retired as he is, and carefully tucks the missing member back into the lineup. He brushes his fingers fondly over Ciri’s old sword, then turns to face Yen. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. “You’re right.”

Yen smiles. “Of course I am, darling.”

His eyes flick to their mostly unused desk, shoved unceremoniously into the darkest corner of the house. Despite its surprisingly unimportance in their quiet lives, Yennefer always keeps paper and ink awaiting upon it. According to her, it suits the aesthetic of the house, or something equally incomprehensible to him. Still, it’s right there. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to send Ciri a message. Even something utterly inane to remind her of how outright dull her adopted parents have become of late. 

A gust of wind kicks up against the house, setting the loose board in the corner to rattling. Yennefer smiles. 

“You know, my dear, I think you may have to go visit our lovely neighbors in the village to see to that board. It makes a dreadful racket.”

He meets her eyes, answering her smile with one of his own.


End file.
